


Apple Pie and Gingerbread

by id_ten_it



Series: Inktober [6]
Category: Little Women Series - Louisa May Alcott
Genre: Gen, Inktober, Inktober 2020, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:13:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28518438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/id_ten_it/pseuds/id_ten_it
Summary: Poor Stuffy receives a timely reminder about eating outside of mealtimes.
Relationships: Friedrich Bhaer/Josephine March
Series: Inktober [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2003845
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Apple Pie and Gingerbread

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Inktober prompt nr 7 (snack) from the alternative Inktober pompt list found [here](https://vkelleyart.tumblr.com/post/630712063324504064/we-are-doing-this-thing-yall-so-it-was), with thanks for the originator for doing the hard yards and providing a better alternative to the original.

“Now George, you know the rule.”  
Thwarted, Stuffy regretfully relinquished his square of gingerbread to Mrs Jo, looking rather woebegone. “Are you really hungry, lad? Or is it just tempting you?”  
“It looks so good” The young man replied mournfully. “Look at all that lovely icing.”  
“Sounds like you would rather look forward to it after dinner.” Mrs Jo smiled, “So you can enjoy the look of the lovely icing now.”  
“The other fellows will laugh if I sit around looking at some gingerbread.”  
Mrs Jo frowned and looked very serious. “Do the other fellows really laugh at you?”  
Stuffy had to admit they did not. They were, on the whole, a jolly lot at the Bhaer-Garden, and any boy caught laughing at another’s misfortune was likely to be shunned for his unkindness.   
“There now.” Mrs Jo added, “I shall put this in your drawer and you may have it later. If you are hungry now there’s plenty of apples to be gathered, and I am sure Cook would like a hand cutting them all for stewing.”  
Stuffy looked mutinous, clearly about to say something about women’s work and the appropriateness of young men to be shut up in kitchens. “I knew you’d be happy to help” Mrs Jo continued, in her most winning manner, “A sensible fellow like you understands everyone must chip in if we’re to have a proper spread on Saturday. All those extra mouths, and those who enjoy eating must know how to cook.”   
“Ye-es” the poor lad had to agree with her logic, perhaps remembering the time he had nearly been shut out of the play-room and the excellent little kitchen Daisy had enjoyed. Mrs Jo, sensing her influence waning, hastily sent him off to gather a couple lads and plenty of apples, running her hands through her hair and worrying.

“A problem, my Jo?” The deep, gentle, voice of her husband made Jo start and turn, blushing to be caught in a rumpled state. By the genial twinkle in his eyes, Fritz either did not notice or did not mind.   
“Stuffy.” Bemoaned Jo, slipping into the old name and showing Fritz the gingerbread card and smiling weakly at her strong feelings, “He won’t listen, and I can’t make him see. What will become of him, Fritz?”  
Her husband clasped the hand that was not taken up with sweets, kissing it chastely. “I fear there is little more to be done, my Jo. Thou hast given him knowledge, but only he may turn it to wisdom. Perhaps it will take some time, but it shall happen.” Smiling to make her smile, he added, “Maybe he shall be lucky enough to find a woman who does not mind that he is fond of his food.”  
As hoped, Jo laughed, hugging her long arms around his firm waist and shaking her head. “Perhaps if he were half as industrious as you, he would be forgiven more.”   
“Ach, you are too certain I am good.” Her husband murmured, clasping her to him and closing his eyes in thanks, “But who am I to argue with such a woman?”  
Poor Jo never could lose her habit of breaking a tender moment with a laugh, “Just a poor husband I’m afraid!” She joked, slipping her arms free to take his hand.  
“Not poor at all” He assured her, leading her from the garden to the kitchen, where a small army of boys chopped and sliced and sorted apples under the watchful eye of Cook. “Not poor at all” He repeated, following her to her study and looking around fondly at the topsy-turvey corner where their two sons were nestled looking at a book, abandoned string and interesting shaped rocks perched nearby like a Martian landscape. Jo carefully placed the gingerbread away, drawing her mending to her and sitting next to him on the battered old sofa, enjoying a moment of unusual stillness in their busy lives.


End file.
